


kintsukuroi (these golden veins)

by terracyte



Series: Loyalty Through Fire [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Gen, Self-Esteem Issues, but like zuko doesn't recognize that, but still fluff, hands up for crippling sense of inadequacey amirite, iroh is absolutely best uncle, sad boi zuko gets his happy ending like he deserves, sad endings? no we dont do that here, tryhard metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25432771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terracyte/pseuds/terracyte
Summary: Zuko knew he would never be enough, and that was okay.[Because if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t be able to do anything but silently start to break apart.And what use would he be, then?]------On Zuko, being broken, and the gold in his life that helped rebuild him. Because like the Japanese art of kintsukuroi, mending broken pottery with gold,  he is broken down, and reborn.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko & Zuko's Crew (Avatar)
Series: Loyalty Through Fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812955
Comments: 75
Kudos: 1502
Collections: AtLA <10k fics to read, Finished111





	kintsukuroi (these golden veins)

**Author's Note:**

> so hear me out, im sorry this isn't a direct sequel or anything but i feel like it fits into this series
> 
> i promise promise the next installment will have those palace shenanigans and Zuko being a lovable fire lord trying to rule a nation, but for now, enjoy this extended metaphor that i wrote in a fever dream after learning about cool Japanese pottery practices

[kintsukuroi: the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold — built on the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art]

~

It started, not quite at the beginning. 

By then, he had already been broken and chipped. With fire in his left eye, he began at sea, from the very bottom. And it would take a very long time before he could build himself back up again.

\------

Iroh sat by his nephew’s bedside in a small room lit by yellow candles. The bandages wrapped around the prince’s face were already crusting yellow at its edges, soaked through with pus and fluid. His other eye was closed, and his expression lax. A thin sheen of sweat sat on his forehead, his breaths deep and labored.

Iroh heaved a shuddering sigh, his heart swelling as he watched dutifully over the slow rise and fall of his nephew’s chest.

He had never hurt Zuko, never raised his voice or his hand. In fact, he was quite possibly one of the only people in the young prince’s life who had only shown him kindness and unconditional love. Iroh laughed with his nephew and told him stories and gave gifts and consoled with gentle words. He had shown Zuko nothing but love and he would continue to do so until the day he died. 

But still. 

He had looked away. 

_[the first cracks appeared]_

When he saw handprint shaped bruises on his nephew’s skin, blazing angry red, he grit his teeth. But Iroh hadn’t said anything. 

When Zuko had reached for a third biscuit during their morning tea because he hadn’t been allowed to eat the day before. But Iroh didn’t do anything beyond offering another.

When Zuko had grimaced up at him clutching his broken arm and said he had only fallen off a tree. But Iroh didn’t venture to learn anything further. 

When Zuko mumbled quietly into his jasmine with puffy eyes after burying his favorite turtleduck in the gardens. But Iroh didn’t have to know anything else to know why it was dead.

It used to be more tolerable, when he had looked away. His nephew had suffered, but he was still safe. He was still a young child that Iroh could make laugh with anecdotes and warm hugs. 

_[more faults began appearing along porcelain edges]_

As the _Wani_ rocked on the ocean waves, all creaking metal and the rush of winds on deck, the dim candlelight cast shadows across his nephew’s prone body. Iroh clutched a small hand in his own, and it was so very cold and pale. And it wasn’t the same anymore. Iroh had turned his head the other way too many times. 

The prince would carry that scar for the rest of his life. He would have impaired vision and hearing, if not going completely blind or deaf on his left. And Iroh felt sick. 

Zuko was just thirteen. 

_[it fell, and it shattered]_

Alone, sitting next to his nephew’s bedside, the Dragon of the West felt something rumble inside him, a quiet sadness that broke through layers of his own mourning and regret. He brushed his hand over Zuko’s cheek, which was still so round and _so young_ , and hardened the resolve that had blazed quietly back to life the second he had left the Agni Kai chamber. He clutched Zuko’s hand in his own— which used to be so strong and had claws tipped with ivory that could _tear_ — and made a promise.

Iroh would never look away again. 

[and]

_[and slowly, one by one, he began picking up the pieces]_

\------

It was humiliating. 

A firebender afraid of his own flames? Who flinched at the sight of his own element like a coward? 

“Remember, Prince Zuko. Fire comes from the _breath_.”

He roared, and threw himself into training. This was one thing he could not lose, he could _not_. What sort of sad excuse of a prince couldn’t bend his own element? 

_[he stayed scattered]_

But no matter how hard Zuko tried, his katas stayed cold. 

\------

He felt so angry all the time. 

He snapped at his crew and yelled at his Uncle. He worked towards a single goal with such dogged determination that it was almost laughable that he could only see with one good eye. But now it was just getting sad. 

Zuko sat alone in his room pouring over scrolls as the ship rocked on rolling waves. 

He felt as if he might burst, and soon, his anger and his hurt and his _I don’t understand why I can’t just go home, am I not good enough?-_ would all come roaring out and expose his pathetic weakness. 

[and]

It wouldn’t be long before the pieces became too shattered to put back together.

\------

“That’s _enough! I get it!_ ” The sudden shout instantly made everyone on deck quiet, staring at the lone, shaking form of their prince. If he could have managed it, there would be steam billowing out of Zuko’s ears and nose. But since he could not, they escaped as hot tears from his eyes instead. 

“I’m weak, and you’re all always mocking me behind my back!” Zuko whipped around to glare at the wide-eyed crew that stood looking back at him, his fists clenched so hard that his knuckles bled white. 

“Because who would ever want to follow a broken, _useless_ prince that can’t even bend?!”

When Uncle stepped towards him, a hand outstretched as if to comfort and not just to say _yes, foolish nephew, you’ve finally realized-_ Zuko flinched, and he turned his back so quickly he might have given himself whiplash. 

“ _Just leave me alone_!” 

And they all heard. But they didn’t listen. 

_[and slowly, one by one, they began picking up the pieces]_

\------

“Well, do you want to learn how to repair it?” 

Zuko looked at the offered screwdriver, and then at the sparking wires in the open panel. Hanako’s voice had been even; it was a question and nothing more. 

He had no fire, no will, and nothing to lose.

Zuko reached for the screwdriver as he lowered himself into a seiza in front of the broken engine. 

“...Okay.”

_[and slowly, the first piece]_

\------

“This is where we are now, sir,” Kyo pointed to a spot on the map, his hand trembling. “Should...should we stop for supplies at the next neutral port?”

Zuko frowned and leaned closer, ignoring the nervous shuffle of the helmsman’s feet. He was silent for a long moment, before he spoke quietly.

“Could you,” Kyo pointedly ignored the light flush on his prince’s face. “...show me where that might be?”

The helmsman moved his finger over to a spot by Earth Kingdom coast.

“Senlin port, sir.”

And then they stayed there, plotting their course. It didn’t take long for Kyo to shed his nervousness, and soon he was but an experienced sailor teaching a teenager to read their maps.

_[and slowly, the second piece]_

\------

By dawn, Zuko could always be found on deck running through his katas. 

“Lieutenant.” 

This was new today.

Jee came up to the prince with a nod of his head and he settled himself into a stance. 

“Would you care for a spar, Prince Zuko?”

Zuko looked over at the man with narrowed eyes, questioning, but dropped into his own sure-footed stance to match. 

_[and slowly, the third]_

\------

They continued to spar, every morning. 

Soon, the other firebenders and combatants would come to him too. Slowly, Zuko felt something lighten inside himself, like a weight being lifted and a match lit. 

He would fall and sometimes he would start when a flash of fire drew too close to his face. The crew did not take it easy on him, and he found himself feeling grateful. The progress was slow, his spirit still unsure, and his wounds still fresh.

But for as many times as he stumbled and fell, he would get back up.

_[and slowly, the fourth]_

\------

“Back on your feet, Prince Zuko!”

_[slowly, the fifth]_

“Not bad, for a brat.”

_[the sixth]_

“It comes from the breath. Now _breathe_.”

_[the seventh]_

\------

One morning, after sweeping a leg at Jee’s feint to his side, the smallest flame appeared at Zuko’s heel. 

It had been brief and flickering, but it had been _there_ , and his crew and his uncle felt such a strong burst of pride that it almost hurt. 

_[and he was still held together by twine and care, but he was whole again]_

\------

The South Pole changed things. 

Because then, the _Wani_ was finally going somewhere, and Zuko found himself finally pursuing the goal he had been grasping for so long. They sailed from the South to the North, and despite how much better it had gotten, and how much he was finally becoming useful for, it started falling apart. 

Zhao came and took away his crew. And then he came and tried to take Zuko’s life too. 

\------

The North was so cold and so bitter, filled with death and angry spirits. And as Zuko drifted along, with the only person left, the only person who mattered now, he felt so very tired. 

“Rest now, nephew. A man needs his rest.”

[and]

And Zuko closed his eyes.

_[and maybe he felt just a little less whole again]_

\------

Iroh placed a hand on his shoulder, as they watched their shorn topknots float downstream. Away, and soon out of sight. Zuko felt strangely empty. 

“We need to move on, Nephew.” 

And he didn’t know exactly what sort of emptiness it was, but he had time to figure it out. 

_[and thin coats of lacquer began filling in the cracks]_

\------

“But there _is_ still hope.” 

~

“I think you and my brother would have liked each other!”

~

“In the darkest times, hope is something you give yourself, Zuko. That is the true meaning of inner strength.”

~

“I’ve realized lately, that being alone isn’t always the best path.”

~

“He’s just trying to find his way in the world. Like us.”

~

_[and it was delicate, but the pieces still held together]_

\------

They arrived in Ba Sing Se and settled in the Lower Ring. 

Pao’s tea shop was small and rundown, but humiliatingly, it was still considered a step above how he and Uncle had been getting by so far. And as much as he tried to deny it, Zuko found himself almost liking it there. 

Yes, customers would look at him, at his left, and they would whisper. And yes, they would be rude and pushy and ask for orders that didn’t even make sense sometimes. But it was new and it was warm.

He became Lee, but often he would wonder if it was just because _Zuko_ was becoming softer. And after freeing the Avatar’s bison, after sweating through a quite frankly absolutely awful fever, he woke up the next day feeling refreshed. 

Uncle looked so happy to have his very own tea shop, and Zuko found himself feeling inexplicably happy for him too. His uncle had done nothing but support him all this time, and it was so, so good to see him at peace.

And when Zuko closed his eyes that night, he could almost pretend that it could last forever.

\------

“I made tea, Uncle.” 

Zuko sat seiza in front of their small table, pouring a cup for himself and Iroh. He was wearing casual robes, a soft green that reflected the mellow smile on his face. The room was just a bit cleaner, more put together and cared for. 

“It’s ginseng, your favorite.”

And as Iroh took a seat and picked up the cup, he inhaled the trailing steam that wafted up from the rim and gave a pleasant smile. 

“It smells wonderful, Nephew.” 

And when he took a sip, it was. And Iroh, after placing aside a picnic basket, a portrait, and sticks of incense, looked over at Zuko and felt a warmth replace the longing in his heart. 

What he had lost in Lu Ten, he had found again in Zuko, and to watch his nephew slowly grow into the beautiful young man he knew he always could be was truly a fulfilling feeling. 

“Things are looking up, Uncle.”

_[and slowly, maybe, they were]_

\------

Azula was in Ba Sing Se. 

She offered him a choice then, in the dark green crystal catacombs beneath the city. 

_[but things still tend to break, even as they are being put back together]_

[and]

He chose wrong.

\------

Life at the palace was suffocating. 

He had servants dress him, feed him, and cater to his every need. There were even palanquin bearers ready to walk for him. It was so very different from his life only a week before. 

It was everything he had ever thought he’d wanted. 

But as time passed and as he watched the palace workers cower and heard Ozai’s plans for the comet, Zuko felt himself rethinking. Was this really what he wanted? The product of all his strife for the past _three years_?

And he felt it chipping away at him, trying to undo the filled in lacquer along the seams. Like a chisel and hammer, they tried to crack him back open along his faults and leave him scattered. 

So he thanked those that had tried to hold him together, and, on the day the sun disappeared behind the moon, 

he left.

_[and it felt dull, the lines filled with lacquer that hadn’t quite dried yet]_

\------

“Hello, Zuko here.”

Painfully awkward. But punctuated with cold silence and narrowed distrustful eyes. Perhaps not the warmest welcome.

“Um, but I’m, uh, good now.”

They told him to leave. They would _never_ trust him. And yes, it stung. But Zuko understood and had expected as much. He hadn’t done anything to earn trust from them; in fact, he had only tried to hurt them before. So, he understood. 

Then he had nearly died stopping Combustion Man from attacking them, and they had begrudgingly allowed him to stay. Huh, he thought, that didn’t take much at all. 

And then the Water Tribe girl — Katara, he reminded himself — had threatened to kill him if he so much as stepped a toe out of line. Ah, Zuko thought, there it is. 

\------

He sat apart from them during meals. 

His portions would be measly and sometimes burnt, but that was okay. Zuko hadn’t done anything to earn a good meal yet. So he sat, cold and alone— and that was okay— sloshing his meal around in his bowl as the others laughed around the campfire. 

Every once in awhile, Zuko would feel someone glaring daggers at him through the embers. Katara, of course. She didn’t trust him at all, openly despised him even. She didn’t hesitate to flick her ice daggers just a bit too close to his face when he walked near her and Aang's bending lessons. She would serve him last and sometimes forget to call him for meals. That was okay; he understood. 

Sokka was a bit friendlier, though not by much. He wasn’t openly hostile, but he still snuck side glances and raised objections to some things Zuko did. To his general presence sometimes, even. He didn’t let Zuko go hunting or fishing with him, and he would often make jokes at his expense. That was okay; it wasn’t anything Zuko didn’t deserve.

Aang was surprisingly accepting. After his flying bison had shown a liking to Zuko, Aang had largely relaxed around him. Teaching him firebending was a bit difficult; he was always so timid and afraid. The flames didn’t thrive off the fear; it needed respect and power. But the lessons weren’t something Zuko could force, and he found himself at a loss sometimes as to how to even teach. The techniques his own teachers had used would clearly not work. So he stayed patient and gave awkward compliments, which seemed to work a bit. And that was okay, for now. 

Toph was the oddest of them all. She hadn’t known him when he had been chasing the Avatar around the world, but he had almost immediately given her a reason to hate him. But she didn’t hurt him or scorn him for it, confusingly enough. She would, however, demand piggyback rides to the fountain and call him names. That was okay; more than okay. 

So Zuko was just...around. He didn’t engage with the group that much. He helped light the campfire and went hunting, but he didn’t sit with them or sleep near them. When he got hurt, he tended to it himself in his room, and when he was hungry, he waited until he could go out and forage for himself. And when he woke up in the middle of the night drenched in cold sweat clutching his left eye, he buried his face in his hands and shuddered, by himself.

_[filled lines of lacquer, maybe just a bit duller now]_

But then it started changing, little by little. He and Aang went to visit the masters and gained true sight as to the nature of firebending. Lessons after that went much smoother, and Aang was no longer as timid as before. By no means was it easy for the boy to learn, but it was progress. Zuko’s own flames had started becoming tinted with other colors, and it was another thing that made him feel warm and a little less empty than before. Like a tiny heartbeat, growing and pounding in his chest. 

He started to sit with them more often. He would serve tea out of a chipped pot and tell Uncle’s jokes. Zuko wanted to share one of the good things in his life with them, so maybe they could appreciate it too. Agni knew that Uncle deserved it, and so, so much more.

But still, Zuko stayed small and quiet. He wasn’t their friend. He was there to be the Avatar’s firebending teacher, and nothing more. It was a sense of duty that allowed him to stay near them, and the second he wasn’t needed anymore, he would leave. 

And that was okay. 

Then he went with Sokka to Boiling Rock, and came back with Sokka’s father, the Kyoshi warrior, one of his own people, and a host of new thoughts to antagonize over. The Water Tribe siblings shared a hug with their father, and Zuko smiled, bright and genuine, before something grabbed his heart and twisted. 

He excused himself, because the reminder that he and his ancestors had broken apart so many happy families like that one struck him like a physical blow. Zuko had almost started to warm up to them, their group. It was a splash of cold water in his face, and he reminded himself what he was. Mai had possibly gotten killed for aiding him, even after he had done nothing but hurt her. 

That was all he was. All he was good for. 

He would hurt all the people around him and spend the rest of his life blithering in an attempt to make up for it. And he couldn’t help but feel almost grateful, because what would he do without a purpose, then? Where would he go? There would be nothing for him to make up for, no debt to repay. Then there would be no reason for him to exist at all. 

_[would he stay broken forever?]_

Then Chit Sang had spoken to him, over dinner around a crackling campfire, and Zuko remembered that he would never live long enough to repay his debts. He could work until he dropped, and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

He had his duty; to his Uncle, the only person who had ever truly loved and cared for him, to his nation, the millions that had been hurt by his own blood and needed a reminder that there was still hope, and, as of right now, to the Avatar, and to his destiny. 

Zuko knew he would never be enough, and that was okay.

[Because if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t be able to do anything but silently start to break apart.

And what use would he be, then?] 

\------

And though he felt himself crumbling, when he shivered alone in an upturned city, in a nameless camp on a deserted island, and in the Fire Lord’s very own summer home, Zuko felt as if this was where he would finally break.

_[and though he couldn’t hear it just yet, a voice cried for him to hold strong]_

He took a deep breath and parted the entrance to the tent, not prepared in the slightest but refusing to let himself be so selfish for any longer. But when he was met only with a familiar snore, he couldn’t help but crumple to the floor in relief. 

Another chance, more time to gather his words. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t make a difference.

\------

Uncle wouldn’t even look at him. 

And Zuko felt something crack so clearly and it must have been showing on his face, so pathetically emotional and clear, but no one was looking, so he let himself be weak. 

“I know you must have mixed feelings about seeing me.” 

So, _so_ stupid. Not mixed feelings. What else could there be but hate and rejection? Not mixed at all. Because mixed implied that Uncle could forgive him, that he wasn’t just a failure that couldn’t be forgiven and that was just _wrong-_

“But I want you to know that I am _so, so sorry, Uncle_ ,” his voice cracked pitifully then, raspy and choked, like he was on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry and ashamed of what I did.” 

And he cried.

“And I don’t know how I can ever make it up to you, but I-”

Excuses, always excuses. Was that all he could offer? Excuses and lies and bad decisions, that was all he was good for. Uncle would never forgive him because _he didn’t deserve it._

_[oh, nephew]_

And then he was being pulled into a hug; an impossible hug that was filled with warmth and forgiveness and _Uncle_ \- and the tears fell faster.

“But how can you forgive me so easily?!” 

He didn’t understand. He just...couldn’t understand. 

But as Uncle held him and told him how happy he was that Zuko had found his way home, Zuko let himself believe. A small sliver of hope had ensnared a piece of his heart, and he desperately wanted to let himself _believe_. 

Because maybe, just maybe, it would be true. 

\------

“We’ll see you on the other side.” 

\------

They all fought, and they bled, and they cried. 

But then it was over, finally thankfully over, and Zuko had never felt so empty and full at the same time.

_[and they started sanding down uneven edges]_

\------

He spent so much time after his coronation, keeping vigil. It would never be enough, he knew. To make up for the thousands, millions, of men, women, and children that had lost their lives. He would never be able to make up for them. 

But he tried anyway. He didn’t care that he looked disheveled and tired and so not Fire Lord prim and proper, because if a ruler didn’t protect and love his people, what would he be then?

He knelt and provided light for lost souls who could finally, thankfully return home. 

And when he turned to honor the people who had been there since the beginning, who had helped him and dealt with him when he couldn’t even deal with himself and helped him regain his fire, Agni sent him a gift.

Because when Zuko turned, they were there. 

He cried, just as before, and he couldn’t care less.

\------

But as he knew, good things could never last. And just like the push and pull of Tui and La, he had gained so now he had to lose.

Agni had allowed him back his crew, his uncle, and his nation. 

So Zuko knew, as he sat with his friends in the gardens, the day before they had to move on, that he couldn't expect them to come back. 

Aang was showing Katara the turtleducks in the pond, pointing out his favorite and sharing the slice of bread he held to feed them. Toph lay in the shade, eyes closed as she made quips about whatever sort of drawing Sokka was scribbling onto a sheet of parchment. In the sun, Appa rumbled in content, echoing the lazy chitter of Momo who lay outstretched on his head. 

Zuko himself sat with his Uncle, sharing a cup of jasmine like he had as a child so many years ago. 

He looked at them all, feeling so happy and warm, and tried to remember the feeling. 

_[he was together again, not yet whole, but what more could he ask?]_

\------

“It’s been an honor to work with you, all,” Zuko said, bowing. He ignored how his hands wanted to tremble, even as he held them respectfully in the form of the flame. “I hope you’ll all find nothing but happiness.”

“Whoa, what’s with all the formal talk, Zuko?” Sokka teased, throwing another pack onto Appa’s saddle. “It’s not goodbye forever.”

And at that Zuko looked up, looking as lost as he felt. 

“But you don’t need me anymore.”

If the others weren’t listening before, they sure as hell were now. Movement stilled, and even Appa lowered himself back down onto the grass.

Because that small admission, said so plainly and not nearly with enough care or awareness of how _utterly horrible_ it was, broke their hearts. 

“What do you mean, Zuko?” Katara asked sadly, frowning. “Of course we do!” 

And then the Fire Lord only tilted his head in response, looking so much like a lost polar bear dog who had been told to sit but couldn’t understand why or how. That look was so very concerning, and while endearing, so very heartbreaking.

“But, the war is over.”

“Yes! It is,” Sokka said, reaching out to clasp a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “And you helped make it happen.”

“So did you. And Katara, and Aang, and Toph, and Suki. So did, well, everyone.”

“Doesn’t discount anything you did though does it?” Sokka rebutted, the concerned expression starting to slide off his face. Because sure, his buddy was a bit self-sacrificing and a total idiot sometimes, but he couldn’t possibly be saying what Sokka thought he was. “Are you really looking to get rid of us so soon after you become all high and mighty, Fire Lord?”

But Zuko only frowned harder, brows scrunching in confusion.

“But... you don’t _need me_ anymore.”

“Zuko,” came Aang’s gentle, concerned voice. “What are you talking about?”

And Zuko turned then, looking over at Aang with that same confused expression as if out of all people, he had expected Aang to understand. 

“I was just your firebending teacher, wasn’t I? I never earned anything really. Because after you mastered firebending and stopped Ozai, I didn't really have a use anymore.”

“What on God’s green fucking earth are you yapping about, Sparky?!” And there was Toph, all indignant and swinging fists, stomping up to him to punch him squarely in his shoulder. The guards at Zuko’s side twitched, but stood down when Zuko held out a placating hand. 

He guessed Toph wouldn’t understand as much. She was always so weird, trying to include him and not hating him and even trying to talk to him. 

“Shut up with all that garbage! What do you mean you don’t have a use?”

“But-”

“Up pup! No, sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of you _disrespecting my friend_. His name is Zuko and he is dumb as shit but he’s my friend and he’s amazing so _shut up.”_

"Toph-"

“Zuko, please.” And Aang’s voice was so small but at the same time so pressing, and Zuko was immediately compelled to close his mouth. So he did, reluctantly. 

And then Sokka saddled up beside him and Zuko shrunk back from the affronting finger poking him on the nose. 

“Listen, Mr. Fire Lord,” he said, voice struggling to remain composed and smooth. “ You can’t get rid of us that easily. You were in the group hug, buddy. There’s no going back.”

Zuko almost wanted to open his mouth to protest, but was then filled with an armful of Sokka, the other boy wrapping him in a large hug that squeezed him tight. He didn’t know what to do exactly, besides awkwardly raising his arms to pat Sokka’s back. 

“Just believe me, okay?”

And then Zuko found himself surrounded by everyone else too; Aang’s small but powerful hands, Katara’s light and sure arms, Toph’s almost aggressively caring grip, and Suki’s warm and solid hold. Appa lumbered over to them too, settling behind Zuko and burying him in white fur as Momo chittered and flew over to perch on his head.

“We’re not going to leave you, dumbass.”

Zuko smiled and melted into the second and possibly warmest group hug of his life.

“...Okay.”

_[the twine came off, and he was standing on his own again]_

\------

So it continued, not quite there yet. 

There were days Zuko still didn’t believe it. Days where he could do little more than pour mindlessly over delegations and new bills that he needed to approve and sign, forgetting all about eating, sleeping, or basic self-care. Those days used to be so common, but as life went on, they became fewer and further in between.

The bad days were still there, but he had his friends— who would come to visit and aggressively nurture him back to health— his uncle— who could work miracles with a cup of jasmine tea and caring words—, his people—who were warming up to him and smiling at him more—, and his crew — who like they had so many years ago, still poked and teased him until he couldn’t hide his grins behind his hand. 

_[together, they held the brush high, and blew gold]_

They were all there, all proud and smiling and Zuko felt so warm and happy, ready to burst with the fond emotion throbbing in his chest. 

And he felt whole again. 

Because he was.

Stronger than before. More loved than before. 

And now, he could stand, more beautiful having been broken.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for all the love for this series! I absolutely adore all the comments I've gotten and honestly have cried out of happiness like more than one time because my god everyone is so darn nice-
> 
> thanks so much for reading! comments make my day and I'd love if you told me what you thought!
> 
> you can find me over on tumblr [@terracyte](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/terracyte) if you'd like :)


End file.
